Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2008 19:36:48 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Arbour
Subject: Chronicles of an Academic Predator- Chapter 3
CHRONICLES OF AN ACADEMIC PREDATOR
Published First at : http://groups.yahoo.com/group/arbourtales/
Before you read this story, there are a few things you should consider:
1. It contains graphic descriptions of sex between men. In some cases,
these depictions may get kinky, and include borderline S&M.
2. It is set in the early 1960s, an era before the Civil Rights Act of 1964
when segregation and discrimination were the norm. African Americans were
referred to as Negroes or Coloreds, although the "N" word was offensive
then as it is now. I have retained the language of the era because it
reminds me how far we have come on race relations.
3. Be aware that the effects of inflation have been profound. A good rule
of thumb is to consider that $1 in 1962 is probably similar to $10 in 2008.
So just add a zero at the end of any number.
4. Some authors are good enough to create a mood through their words. I
need help, so I'll be posted recommended musical selections throughout the
story.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbx1tMIOjcM
"Apache," by Ricky King
I drove south while Peter sawed away at his cuffs. "When they put
these on, I thought the only way out of this was by cutting my wrists. I
think I just did that, almost." He laughed. Peter had such a contagious
sense of humor, but occasionally he seemed to sink into depression. Those
periods were brief, and he quickly regained his composure.
I considered his behavior, thought of my own stratagems for self
control. I used calm and coolness to shield my inner feelings. It dawned
on me that Peter was not so different than me, but instead of my coolness
he used humor. It was just as effective, with the added benefit of making
the other person laugh instead of merely feeling shut out.
"There, there's one down. Shall I keep it for later?" he joked,
with a mock leer. "No," I replied, "we'll need to get rid of that where no
one will ever find it. We drove across a bridge, a large estuary below us.
"Peter," I said with urgency, "Toss that handcuff out the window." He
pushed the button and rolled down the window, the cool air blasting into
the car as the handcuff sailed out.
Peter paused from his labors to look out the window at the scenery.
"Damn, this place looks like a hurricane hit it." He was joking, or so he
thought.
"Actually, it did. Or it was almost a hurricane anyway. They call
it the Ash Wednesday Storm. Blasted the coast from North Carolina all the
way up to New York. Don't you watch the news?" I joked back with him
lightly, but the devastation was no laughing matter. All along the road we
could see signs of wind and water damage.
"Not unless you can watch the news with your dick," he said. "This
place was just pounded. Is the whole coast like this?"
"Pretty much. The storms were so bad they even screwed up
construction of that new tunnel they're building, the one that will connect
this peninsula and Virginia. Rehoboth Beach got hit with 40 foot high
waves that took out the whole boardwalk." The mood got somber.
"This is terrible," he commented.
"Yeah. It may make finding a motel in Rehoboth a tough task. But
the advantage is that things should be pretty deserted. They won't be
expecting tourists."
He smiled and joked back at me. "Hey, never underestimate a fag in
distress."
A few miles later, he managed to remove the other handcuff. He
rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had been in what I'm sure was a universal
reaction to being unchained. I needed to get gas in the Pontiac, so I
stopped at a gas station. An old man came out to fill up the car while
Peter went out back to find a particularly rank dumpster to toss the
remaining cuff in. As for me, I went to the bathroom. I'd had to piss for
about an hour now, and I was about to burst. On the wall was graffiti,
most of it nonsense, but there were a few that were more interesting.
"Blow job. Tonight. 8PM." What night? I wondered if this was the prime
cruising spot here in the middle of nowhere, the middle of Delaware.
Peter spotted a large motel right on the beach in Rehoboth. It
didn't look like it had been too hammered by the storm, and was still open.
It was also a large place so it would be spread out more and we wouldn't be
close to other people. I figured with a small place the staff would be
able to keep a closer eye on us. Nosy bastards, those innkeepers.
"You should get down on the floor" I said to Peter. "Just in case
they are looking for two men." He obligingly slunk down on the floor.
I went into the office and got an oceanfront room. I paid for the
room with cash, telling the guy that I just wanted to get away for the
weekend. He didn't seem to care. Probably just glad to get some business
after the town had been wiped out. Fortunately the room was toward the end
of the motel, secluded and peaceful. I drove up in front of the room and
parked the car. It was dark now, so Peter was able to sneak into the room
unseen. I was about to head out to the car to retrieve my newly purchased
tools when Peter stopped me. "There were enough rank garbage cans back
there that I figured I could dump the tools too." Good thinking on his
part.
The room smelled of new carpet and paint. They had moved fast to
renovate this one. There was a lingering scent of mold, a scent which told
me that maybe they had worked just a little too fast and hadn't gotten all
the wet walls replaced.
Peter bounced on the bed like a little kid, making me laugh yet
again. How ironic, here I was on the lam, possibly guilty of murder, and I
was laughing, having a great time with this funny, sexy, charming guy. My
stomach suddenly growled loudly. He laughed at me again. "Let's go find
something to eat," I told him, rolling my eyes, as we headed into town to
find some food.
It was 6PM, prime dinner hour. We headed towards town and saw a
barbecue restaurant. I hadn't had barbecue for a long time, and Peter
didn't seem to know what I was talking about. Guess they didn't go for
that kind of food up in Montreal. We parked the car and walked in the
restaurant, stopping in our tracks as soon as we made it past the door. We
were the only white people in a restaurant full of colored people, all of
whom had stopped eating and were staring right at us.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmGTmtTBlvs
"Hit The Road Jack," by Ray Charles
Peter looked at me dubiously. I could tell his reaction was to
turn and leave. But I'd already assaulted a cop, freed a prisoner, and
fled across state lines. I felt bad, daring, and my adrenaline was
pumping. I scanned the restaurant. There were about 30 Negroes, but one
stood out. A large Negro woman was standing almost in the middle of the
restaurant, staring at me with her hands on her hips. I decided to take a
chance.
I approached her confidently, all the eyes watching me; the only
sound was the distant rumbling of an old juke box. The farther I went the
more intense the smell got, that rich, thick smell of good barbecue. My
stomach was really urging me on now.
"Pardon me ma'am," I said respectfully. "We're both starving for
some great barbecue. Would it be OK if we ate here?"
She eyeballed both of us up and down. "You got money, you can eat
here," she said pronouncing judgment. I smiled at her. "I got money, and
I'm a good tipper." She smiled back at me and that broke the ice. She led
us to a small table in the corner.
Peter looked at me with admiration. "Man, you are one cool cat. I
would have turned and ran." I smiled back at him. "I figured I've been
living on the edge all day, so why stop now, especially when I'm so fucking
hungry."
We ordered tons of food, amazing food, the best barbecue I'd ever
had. The rest of the restaurant ignored us, except for the large Negro
woman who ordained herself as our waitress. She had a genial but
authoritative manner.
In between mouthfuls, I managed to start a conversation. "So
you're from Montreal?" I asked. He looked up at me and replied "Yeah" with
a nod, then bit into another rib.
"Who was the guy you were with in the restaurant?" I asked,
turning up the heat. That stopped him in mid chew.
"What restaurant?" I smiled to myself. He was dodging the issue,
just like I would have.
"You know what restaurant. Or do you have a whole bunch of guys
who hang out with you and tell you that they love you and want to touch you
all the time?" I threw this statement at him in French, just in case the
locals were eavesdropping.
"You speak French!" I had him now. He was squirming, trying to
figure a way out of it. He tried to change the subject. "Who was the guy
you were with?"
"So you do remember?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "That was my
roommate, and we're friends. Seems like your relationship was a little
more, uh, intense."
He was blushing now. Squirming. "That was Georges. I guess you'd
call him my boyfriend." There was a certain pain in his expression when he
mentioned Georges.
"Do people know you're a fag? I mean, do you guys go out as a
couple and stuff?" I wondered what that life might be like. I'd always
thought about it wistfully, how nice it would be to be married to Andre, go
out as a couple, hold hands, maybe even kiss in plain view, but for me that
was just a dream. I knew I'd never have the courage to defy society like
that. But people who did, other fags, they intrigued me.
"No, 'though I guess some people figure Georges out on their own.
He's such a dude. He even speaks Polari." He paused, thinking. "Well, I
guess I should tell you the whole deal, since you did rescue me from a life
of servicing prisoners in jail." That humor was a shield, the last
resistance to opening up to me, something I could relate to.
"Georges and I started, uh, hanging out about a year ago. He's
really smart, but he's kind of like a teenage girl. He's insecure and
jealous. Guess I've given him some reasons for that though." He smirked
at me and I smiled back at him. Those dimples were deadly. He could use
those like a Roman Soldier would use his sword and shield. The humor would
disarm you just like the shield, while the dimples would move in and charm
for the kill just like the sword. But I wasn't going to respond and give
him an opportunity to change the subject.
"So Georges gets accepted to Princeton and starts planning for us
to move down here. I argued with him, told him I didn't want to go, but he
wouldn't hear it. He told me that he wouldn't leave without me, that he'd
rather throw his future away than to live without me. He even hinted that
he might kill himself if I didn't. Well, I wasn't doing anything important
in Montreal. Guess I'd hit a dead end. I figured I could be up for a new
adventure." His demeanor had changed, almost as if he was talking to
himself now.
"Georges has money, not tons, but enough to support both of us
pretty well. He promised me he'd pay for everything until I got a job. We
got down here and I found out working in a foreign country without the
right visa wasn't easy. So there I was, trapped and totally dependent on
him." He looked to me for validation.
"No one has the right to manipulate you like he did, like the
tricks he used to get you to move down here. Trapping someone and forcing
them to love you isn't going to work." Big words from me, a guy who'd
never really been in love, or at least a reciprocated love.
"Yeah, that was probably a bad omen. But when we got down here it
just got worse and worse. I didn't have anything to do, so I was bored. I
couldn't think of all that many fun ways to occupy my time, except my one
favorite activity." He leered at me with that comment and I felt myself
blushing. "Aww, how cute, you're blushing," he teased. I hated to be
teased when my guard was down, hated it, and he must have sensed that
because he got back on track with his story.
"So he just got more and more clingy. He needed to have me around
all the time. I was a kept man. A dick for hire, someone who was there to
hug him, hold him, listen to his bitching, or fuck him on command. I was
trapped. But I didn't even have enough money to get back to Canada, and he
sure as hell wasn't going to give it to me. Right now all I've got in my
pocket is $10. That won't get me very far." He reminded me of the caged
lions I'd seen at the zoo.
"So finally I broke down and told him that I wanted to move back to
Montreal. I asked him if he'd loan me the money to get back. He whacked
out on me, broke down crying, threw a tantrum. Told me if I left he'd kill
himself. Then he called me every name in the book, tossed some plates at
me, and tossed me out of the house. He's thrown fits before, but this one
was worse than all the others." I could see in his expression that as
irritated as he was at Georges, he was still concerned that he'd follow
through on his threats.
"So I left. The standard routine is that I'd come back in an hour
or so and grovel, then fuck him, and he'd forgive me. But this time I had
enough, and I knew I wasn't going back. That's why I made sure to grab my
wallet and passport. All my clothes, well, he'd bought for me, and I
really didn't like them anyway. Besides, they'll fit him."
"So that's when you headed to the bathroom and got busted?" I was
wondering what drove him there.
"Yep. I needed to relax, and I figured if I could get off maybe I
wouldn't be so quick to go back to him. You know, wouldn't be horny.
Besides, I was kind of hoping I'd run into you there." He grinned at me,
oozing charisma.
"Yeah right. Listen buddy, I'm not falling for your lame pick-up
lines. Besides, first thing you do is stick your dick in a cop's face." I
was using his own technique on him.
"Were you there looking for me?" He asked, point blank. He smiled
as he watched me squirm, watched me waver, grappling for a way out of it.
In the end, I just said "yes".
Just as he'd put me on the spot and made me feel uncomfortable, he
then turned around and tried to make it right. "So I'm supposed to believe
that you went there to see me, but when I tell you I went there to see you
I'm a cad?"
"Well, aren't you?" I taunted back. "Cheating on your, er,
boyfriend with older men. Tsk tsk tsk. And I'm supposed to risk my honor
and virtue on you?" That made us both laugh.
The large colored woman came to our table. "I'd ask you boys if
you want mo' food but you ate so much I don't know if there's anything left
in the kitchen." We laughed. "I'll go get your check." She sauntered off
and a large Negro man and his equally large friend came up and stood where
she had.
"So how'd you boys like eatin' at a colored place?" The guy asked
us menacingly.
"Well I'll tell you, that's the best damn barbecue I ever had." I
looked him in the eye.
"Well boy, you sho' got good taste. Took some guts to come in here
when everyone's jus' starin' at you two. You OK. You ever 'round here
again, you come back." And with that, they walked off. Peter and I looked
at each other, pretty stunned.
The waitress brought the check, and despite all the food we'd eaten
the total bill only came to $3. She stood there, waiting for me to pay
her. I took out my wallet and looked at the cash I had. I'd gotten a lot
out yesterday, planning ahead for my trip to Claremont. I handed her $20.
"Thanks for the great food and great service ma'am." I said politely.
"Keep the change." She gaped at me as we walked out.
We stopped by a local store on the way back to the motel. I needed
to get some toiletries and a razor for Peter. I came back to the car and
tossed the bag of stuff in his lap. "Well Peter, you're going to have to
say goodbye to the goatee." He looked at me, about to protest, so I
continued. "If they're looking for you, that's sure to be in your
description. Besides, I think a clean-shaven clean start would be good for
you." He laughed at my little pun
When we got back to the motel, he took the bag and disappeared into
the bathroom. Five minutes later he came out with no facial hair, a nice
clean shave. He looked great, even more handsome than before. Without the
goatee, this guy was as beautiful as a model. "Wow, you are drop-dead
gorgeous!" I blurted, then blushed, embarrassed by my boldness.
He grinned at me and those dimples that had been so powerful with
his goatee were now exponentially more powerful with his clean-shaven face.
"I'll bet you say that to all the boys," he jibbed back.
"So anyway," I continued somberly, "There's only one bed, so you'll
have to sleep on the floor. I might be able to spare you a blanket, but
the pillows are mine." He looked up at me, shocked, and I started
laughing. He just shook his head.
I did have to address the sleeping situation. I planned and hoped
that he'd want to sleep with me, fool around with me, but at the same time,
I wanted it to be his decision. I didn't want him to feel like a rent boy,
that he had to pay me back for rescuing him with sex. "Seriously, I only
got one bed because I didn't want the guy at the front desk to be
suspicious. If you're OK with it we can share, but I promise that I won't
try and hit on you or anyth... " He cut short my rambling by leaning over
and kissing me. A pretty effective way to shut me up.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8f9EPkZz9PU
"The Stripper" by David Rose
His lips meshed with mine, our arms went around each other and we
fell back onto the bed with him partially splayed across me. I felt his
lips part and his tongue push forward, seeking permission or demanding
entry, it didn't matter. I wrapped my tongue around his. Peter is a great
kisser. It was like we just meshed in sync perfectly. We lay there making
out for what seemed like an eternity, and it could have been. I never
wanted it to end. But it did.
Peter moved off me and began pulling off his clothes. He grinned
as I watched him and started making a game out of it. First he unbuttoned
his shirt, rubbing his hands seductively over his chest, slowly removed
each sleeve, and then whipped off the shirt with a dramatic "whoosh". I
grinned at him and got into the game, standing up and mirroring his moves
myself.
Next he unbuckled his belt, pulled it out of the loops, and tossed
it across the room. Laughing, I did the same, and then I took the lead by
unbuttoning my pants and pushing my fingertips down the front. He raised
his eyebrow and did the same, then pulled down his zipper, but not at once,
first down a little, then up, then down, then up a little, then finally
down. He pushed his pants down, and there he was, just in briefs, with his
dick straining to get out. I did the same thing, so we were both standing
there staring at each other in just our underwear. Then I turned around
and slowly pulled my boxers down, pushing them down to my ankles, so my
bare ass was aimed right at him as I was bent over in front of him. He
whistled, and I stood up and playfully looked over my shoulder at him. He
pulled the waist band down on his underwear slowly, exposing the increasing
mass of red pubes, then the base of his hard cock, and then, as I turned
around, his whole package. Now we were both naked and hard, and he walked
toward me, our bodies coming into contact first, then our lips, and then he
pushed me back onto the bed. He began thrusting against me, and I wrapped
my legs around him, squeezing him tightly. The feel of his skin against
mine, his pubic hair against mine, his hard cock straining against mine,
was more than I could handle. I threw my head back and growled, feeling my
orgasm rising up from my balls. "I'm gonna cum!" I said, probably a bit
too loudly. He kept on thrusting in rhythm, moving against my cock, with a
deliberateness that told me he wanted to bring me off.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I cried as I came, finding it exhilarating, so
much so that it seemed to make my orgasm start all over again. I shot and
shot and shot, thrusting up against him with wild abandon until I was
almost completely spent.
"A little bit longer..." he panted into my ear and then he cried
too. I squeezed my legs even tighter, pulling him in as tightly as I could
while he shook and quivered.
He rolled off of me and lay on his back next to me, both of us
panting. "I knew you'd be a lot of fun in bed," he said, and looked over
at me with a smile.
"Oh yeah. What made you think you'd get me here?" I said, trying
to be coquettish.
"Hmmm, maybe the way you latched onto my cock in the bathroom?" We
both lay there, laughing, enjoying our post-orgasmic high. After a few
minutes I was conscious of the fact that I was covered in cum.
"Well, you got me all messed up. Time for a shower." I jumped up
and headed to the bathroom. I looked back at him, and he looked lonely.
"Going to join me?" He smiled and jumped up after me.
I woke up disoriented, wondering where I was. That lasted for
about a millisecond, until I realized that someone was blowing me, and
doing a damn good job at that. I looked down and saw Peter expertly work
down my pole, allowing my head to lodge in his throat. He looked up at me,
a smile in his eyes, and swallowed so I could feel his throat squeeze my
head. That did it, and I shot my load straight down his throat. I felt
kind of cheated; I must have slept through most of it. Not that I'm
complaining.
He stood up on his knees, over me, grabbed his hard cock and
started stroking it. He began to move up my body, shifting from knee to
knee as he stroked and sidled up over my chest. I watched his nice cock as
it got closer and closer to my face, licking my lips subconsciously in
anticipation of his taste.
He finally reached my face and pushed his cock down toward my
waiting mouth, while at the same time he gently grabbed the back of my head
and pulled it upright into his cock. His dick glided into my mouth and I
wrapped my lips around it, enjoying his reaction, his moans, and the way
his body twitched in delight.
Slowly he began fucking my mouth. I never would have let someone
do this before, afraid that I'd get a dick crammed down my throat. Oh
hell, the truth of the matter was that I just didn't want to give up that
much control. But Peter was gentle and slow, and he knew exactly where to
stop. As he got closer, he picked up his pace, thrusting more urgently and
more quickly, but still not gagging me.
"I'm gonna cum" he said through gritted teeth and he tried to pull
away. I reached up and grabbed his two beautiful ass cheeks, pulling them
to me, giving him permission to blast in my mouth. That's exactly what he
did. He fucked my mouth until he was drained, then collapsed next to me.
He looked into my eyes, I felt him pierce through my shields, deep
within my psyche, and it made me feel uncomfortable. I rolled over onto
him and laid my head on his still heaving chest as he tried to get his
breath.
"So here we are in this po-dunk beach town. You plan for us to
live here forever?" He asked me this with that lilt to his voice that told
me he was joking, but it was time to figure out what to do next.
"What time is it?" I asked, mostly to myself. It was dark in the
room, so I leaned to turn on one of the lights by the bed. I gave my eyes
a few seconds to adjust. My watch said 7:30am. Shit. I jumped out of bed
and headed for the phone. I didn't realize it was morning already. By
drawing the drapes I had turned the place into a tomb. "I've got to call
my roommate."
I dialed my number, not sure if I'd get an answer. It only rang
once.
"Hello?" Andre's voice sounded anxious.
"Hey, it's me, I..." He cut me off.
"Where the fuck have you been? I've been worried. It's not like
you to just disappear. I figured you went home, but they hadn't seen you
there either." Shit. He was right. I was meticulous about planning my
schedule and my whereabouts. And he had called my parents, so now they
were involved.
"Look, I'm sorry if I worried you. I was having a brain block over
this latest paper so I decided to head down to the beach for a few days to
see if a little fresh air would clear my head. I guess I fell asleep." I
hoped the lame-ass excuse would work. I sure couldn't tell him the truth.
"Well, it would have been nice to have a phone call, a note,
something..." Andre mumbled.
"I said I was sorry. What more do you want?" I was starting to
get a little pissed. He didn't control my life.
"I was just worried that's all." This was not how this
conversation was supposed to be going.
"Hey Andre, can you grab the paper and check a few things for me?"
I heard him mumble sure, then the footsteps and door as he went out to get
it.
"OK, got it. What do you want to know?" How to ask him whether
there was an All-points-bulletin out on me and/or Peter, which was what I
was thinking.
"Rosenberg was supposed to get some award last night. See anything
in there?" There was no award. Please let him start babbling away.
"Nope. Nothing on Rosenberg." No babbling.
"Anything else happening in our exciting little town? No rapes and
murders?" I tried to joke, hoping he'd lighten up.
"Hmmm. Let's see. Looks like they're going to re-do Cherry Street
and it will be closed down off and on over the summer." I heard the pages
rustling around. "Looks like they busted a party at the DT house. Let's
see. Some cop fell down the stairs on campus. Got a broken nose and a
concussion, but he's OK now. Clumsy bastard. And that's about it."
"Well, looks like I better hurry back so I don't miss out on the
excitement." That made Andre chuckle. "Hey can you call my parents and
tell them I'm fine? I'll be back in a few days, in plenty of time to go to
Claremont on Tuesday anyway."
So after a few goodbye platitudes, I hung up, much relieved.
Musical Recommendation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOuaet4Evp4
"He's a Rebel" by The Crystals
Peter looked at me curiously, and I had this intense desire to
tease him mercilessly by not telling him a thing. That desire flashed by
quickly. This was a big deal for him. He'd been through enough.
"All they said in the paper was that the cop fell down the stairs.
My roommate thinks he's a clumsy bastard." His eyes brightened with relief
and he laughed at my little joke. "So that means there's not an
all-points-bulletin out on either one of us, or at least if there is, it
isn't public."
"So what do I do now?" He asked, more to himself than to me.
"Well, I think it would be a bad idea for you to go back to
Princeton." He looked at me as if to say "Duh". "Well, I just wanted to
make sure that's what you wanted. I mean, I know how you left things with
Georges, but I didn't know if you had any unfinished business with him."
"Georges isn't part of my life anymore. I don't want to go back
there, and I don't want to see him again. He makes me feel guilty and
trapped, and if I go back there he'll try to manipulate me into staying."
"So any idea where you want to go?" I could see his mind move from
the melancholy of the past to the uncertainty of the future.
"I guess I could go back to Montreal. He'd probably track me down
there and bug the shit out of me. Besides, no one knows I left with him.
They think I got into Princeton. So I have this whole trail of lies behind
me, and I really don't want to face them." Peter had woven a pretty
tangled web, and lied to a whole bunch of people. I could condemn him for
that, but I had a feeling that it was his way of trying to grab at some
small amount of self esteem. He didn't give himself credit for his
incredible good looks, his disarming sense of humor, or his charm and
charisma.
"Look, here's what I think we should do. Let's drive up to Philly.
We can get there in a few hours and go shopping. You'll need some new
stuff, clothes, a bag to throw them in. While we're doing that, you can
think of where you want to go. Pick somewhere and I'll buy you a bus
ticket." It wouldn't cost much money to give him a fighting chance for a
future, and something told me that Peter was worth the investment.
"I don't want to take your money. It would be just like taking
money from Georges." I could see the struggle of pride versus practicality
on his face.
"It's not like that at all. I don't want to control you, I don't
want to be your boyfriend, I don't want you to tell me that you love me, I
don't want any of that shit. I think you have potential buried beneath all
the bullshit and the lies that you spin, so I'm going to give you a chance
to prove it." He looked at me with a smile. "That and I want your body
for the next few days."
"That sounds like something I can work with." And in no time he
was on his knees sucking my dick again.
We got to Philly by noon and checked into the Warwick Hotel. I
usually stayed there when I was in Philly. I like Rittenhouse Square, and
there's shopping nearby. There was a branch of my bank there too, and I
managed to get there and cash a check before they closed. I wanted to make
sure Peter had some money for his new life.
The weather had given us the gift of a marvelous spring day. We
walked all over downtown, buying a whole new wardrobe for Peter and lots of
cool new stuff for me too. I had a BankAmericard that direct billed to my
parents, so I wasn't too worried about the money. My mother was always on
me to get myself more clothes and stuff anyway.
We made it back to the hotel around 7pm, took a long shower, and
went out for a nice dinner in our new duds. A big steak, a nice bottle of
wine....the perfect ending to a great day.
"I don't know how to thank you for all this," Peter said with a
smile.
"I'll think of something when we get back to the hotel," I said
with a leer that made him laugh. "Seriously, it was fun. And you look
great." He really did. He was wearing a blue suit that set off his looks
perfectly. That and a visit to the hair stylist had completed his
makeover. He was sure to melt any heart he wanted to. It disturbed me
that the thought of that made me jealous.
"So did you decide where you want to go?" Changing the subject was
important. I was starting to understand why Georges was so possessive.
"I'm thinking that I should go west. Maybe California. Do you
think that would be OK?" The only thing he needed my approval for was the
cost of travel.
"I bet you'll love it out there. You look hot enough to model.
You want to head to LA, or San Francisco?" I had an East Coast perspective
on California; those were the only two places I could envision going to.
"I don't know. Maybe I'll try LA. Try to find out if one of the
Beach Boys is queer." We both laughed at that.
After dinner we strolled back to the hotel, the weather still
beautiful, the city alive on a Saturday night; I felt on top of the world.
"You want to hit a club or something?" I asked Peter.
"No, I'd rather go back to the room and get these clothes off." We
picked up our pace and made it back to the room in no time.
We got back to the room, put out the "Do Not Disturb" sign, and
locked the door. I stood in front of Peter, enjoying his handsome looks
and noticing, not for the first time, his inherent sex appeal. I moved
towards him and he put out his hands to keep me distant. "Don't want to
wrinkle my new clothes," he said with a smile. So we both stood there
undressing slowly, not sensually like we'd done before, but in an unhurried
way that seemed to say "we have the whole night ahead, no need to rush."
I moved toward him again and kissed him, and kept kissing him while
I dragged him over to the bed. We lay there, him on top of me like I liked
it, grinding against each other, enjoying the physical contact. Then Peter
moved down my chest, licking my nipples, teasing his way down my flat
stomach, until he engulfed my cock in his mouth. He moved his body around
so that he was kneeling over me, his cock dangling in front of my face.
For the first time, I experienced the joy of a 69.
I ran my hands up his thighs, admiring his muscles and the soft red
coat of down that covered them. I allowed my hands to wander up to his
ass, feeling the cheeks that were soft until I touched them, then he
clenched them up and they were like two rocks. His ass had dimples just
like his face did, cute little indents in the side. I took his cock into
my mouth, swirling it around, teasing his head with my tongue, but only for
a bit. Then I let go of his cock and slid down so I could pay attention to
his balls. I nuzzled my nose into them, smelling his muskiness, following
my nose with my tongue.
I'd never had a chance to really look at a guy's ass, so I slid my
cock out of his mouth and moved myself away from under him. He seemed
disoriented, not expecting that. Now, kneeling behind him, I had a great
view and total access to his rear exposure. I gently pushed him forward so
he was lying down on the bed with his ass in the air, and I moved my mouth
down to resume licking his balls, focusing on the area at the very base of
them, so my nose landed right in his perineum. Before, when I had my nose
in his balls, the sharp smell of his musk had filled my brain with
pheromones, urging me on. That was nothing compared to the smell of his
perineum. The musk smell was stronger than ever, stronger than the scent
of his balls, but it was mixed with a sweet tanginess, almost like sweet
vinegar. I nuzzled that special spot between his balls and his hole,
inhaling him, driving him nuts.
Now I had a new target. In front of me was his ass, with his cute
little pucker at eye level. I always thought that touching another guy's
hole would be disgusting, but his was irresistible. I gently ran my
fingers down his crack, brushing the tips over his hole. He moaned loudly
and moved back into my fingers. I guess every guy has his "spot", and I
had now found Peter's.
I gently traced around the rim of his hole, watching it throb
against my fingers. Then I did something I thought I'd never do. I sank
my face into his ass and ran my tongue over his asshole. He really moaned
now, thrusting his butt back into me, so intent was he on appreciating each
lick. I discovered that I was enjoying this, rimming his hole, not so much
for the activity itself, but for the incredible ecstasy I was giving him.
"JP, I want you to fuck me." He phrased this as a request, but it
was as much a command.
"I've never done that before..." I said nervously. I was excited
at the thought of actually penetrating him, how good it must feel, but I
really didn't know how to do it.
He turned around and kissed me urgently. "Don't worry, I'll show
you how." And with a smile he jumped up, ran into the bathroom, and came
out with a jar of Vaseline. He came back and returned to his position on
the bed with his ass in the air, and coached me as I probed his hole first
with my tongue, then with one finger, then with more of my fingers.
"I'm ready," he said, with a breathlessness that was sexy beyond
belief. He pushed me on my back and straddled me, pausing to reach down
and grease my pole with Vaseline. He positioned my cock against his hole,
and slowly started to sit down on it. I felt his hole touch the tip of my
cock and then slowly envelop it, increasing the pressure. I watched his
expression, alternating between excitement, anticipation, and discomfort.
The contortions on his handsome face made him seem totally unhinged,
disconnected from real thought, focused on one thing and one thing only,
taking my dick up his ass. I thought that there was no way my dick was
going to make it through his tight hole, and the grimace on his face along
with his rapidly deflating dick convinced me that he was thinking the same
thing. Just as I was about to stop him, there was a "pop" and I was in.
The feeling was amazing, an incredibly soft, wet, and firm membrane
had enveloped my cock and its only purpose was to give me pleasure. I
struggled with my body, willing myself to maintain my control and not to
explode yet, wanting this to last and last. It was not to be. He moved up
and down on my pole two times and I knew I couldn't hold out. With the
third time, I erupted inside him, cumming for what seemed like an hour.
When I finished, Peter collapsed next to me and smiled. I was
embarrassed at blowing so soon, and not a little guilty about leaving him
so high and dry. "I'm sorry Peter, that was so awesome, I just couldn't
hold out." I knew now what I had feared for years: I was a shitty lover.
"JP, relax, it's no big deal. The same thing happened to me.
Besides, I know you. You'll be back in action in no time." He was so
reassuring, so kind, I felt my heart go out to him. We cuddled and kissed,
something I hadn't been able to do with another guy before, and I felt
completely bonded with him. I barely knew this guy two days ago, and now
he had worked his way into my heart. It wasn't just the sex; I'd gotten
off with other guys. It was the whole package, the way he made me laugh,
the way he gave himself to me not just willingly, but with a desire to do
so. The way I could spend time with him and not feel the need to run off
and be alone. His body, his gorgeous looks, and the fact that I'd gotten
to know it almost as well as my own. The way I had just lost my virginity
to him. I refused to believe that I could fall in love this quickly, but
it wouldn't be hard to do. I wrote it off to infatuation and lust, and
decided that cocktail was almost as potent as love. He was right; it
didn't take long for me to recover, especially when I felt his hard cock
rubbing against my thigh.
I rolled over on top of him and our lips met, met with that
incredible meshing that said we were meant to kiss each other. Our kisses
ignited our passion, and he moved his legs back, grabbing his ankles,
poking his ass up in the air and begging me to enter it. I guided my hard
and still lubed cock towards his hole and slowly entered him, that same
feeling of blissful envelopment waiting for me. I began to slowly thrust
in and out of him, appreciative of the sacrifice he was making to give me
so much joy.
Or so I thought. I looked down at him and saw that he was in as
much ecstasy as I was. How was that possible? His eyes had rolled back
into his head and his hard cock was leaking, oozing out a drop or two with
every thrust of my cock. I started to pick up my pace and he cried "Oh
yes, fuck me!" I reached down and began stroking his cock as I thrust,
working it in time with my own motions. He reached down and moved my hands
away, and then, a few thrusts later, he came all over himself. Watching
him blow his major load, and feeling his ass tighten around me with the
spasms set me over the edge and I followed him into orgasm.
We collapsed into each other's arms, falling asleep in pure bliss.